i no longer know if i wish to drown myself in love, vodka, or the sea

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When he first wakes up in Ranboo’s bed, he doesn't notice that the warm body curled up next to him is too small to be his husband, and he has the hazy, half-asleep thought that today will be a good day. It’s our anniversary today, he thinks, Ranboo’s probably got some grand gesture planned . He has Michael’s birthday present wrapped and ready, hidden underneath the bed, which is much too large to be his. Tubbo goes to throw an arm over Ranboo, to curl into his husband’s warm torso and go back to sleep, safe and sound in Snowchester with his husband and his son and his nuclear missiles. The warm body next to him, however, curls into and not around him, and he opens his eyes to a too-large bed in a too-small house, a recently hastily constructed wall separating the bedroom from the rest of the world, and his son huddled into his chest for warmth. It is colder here than it is in Snowchester.

Someone knocks on the door, and when Tubbo calls, “I’m up!” it creaks open. Someone is here, with them. Tubbo knows that this is what remains of one of the best things to ever happen to him. He trusts this person, this stranger, but they are a stranger all the same. The ghost of Tubbo’s husband, taller in death and near-frightening- with the black and white bedsheet pulled over his face beneath his crown and his impossibly echoing voice- says, “It’s Michael’s birthday today! We were going to take him down to his Uncle Tommy’s, so I went ahead and made breakfast!” He shouldn’t be able to remember that. Not that Tubbo doesn’t wish every ease and happiness on his husband, but- with every memory he’s ever had stored perfectly in his brain, without the little black book labeled Do Not Read, with no stammer and no slouch and a new favorite food that he remembers from his childhood- this is no longer Tubbo’s husband.

Ghostboo isn’t going to hurt him- Ghostboo loves him just as much as Ranboo did, in the same exact ways- but he’s different now, so different. Tubbo doesn’t know him anymore, and that frightens him. All the same, he’ll eat the eggs, and the beef sausage and he’ll feed Michael the crushed up golden apple, because what stayed when his husband left remembers his favorites, and loves him, and is waiting for him by the door of the house.

There is a pink tulip in a vase on the table that Ghostboo gave Tubbo when he first moved in. Tubbo hasn’t left the house since, busying himself with carving Michael’s birthday gift. He is somehow still afraid of Technoblade seeing him, of Techno knowing they’re married. Even forgiveness can’t end the nightmares, it seems. 

Tubbo finishes his eggs. They were good, the exact amount of vanilla he told Ranboo he liked every time his husband would cook them breakfast. Even when he remembered, he would ask just in case, because he always did. He didn’t need to this time. He stands, takes Michael’s hand and leads him to the door, to Boo. 

“Will you be joining us?” He asks. Ghostboo hesitates. 

“If you don’t mind? I’d love to hang out with Michael on his birthday. If you need some space, though, I can stay here.” Tubbo fakes a smile.

“It’s alright, bossman.” Nothing will ever be alright ever again and it’s your fault. “We’d love to have you.” If Boo can make the effort, maybe he can try, at least.